solstice comes
unwound,

accomplice and
saboteur burned
to the ground,

rising of Sirius,
Dog Star fetches
the ashes of the corpses,
one dark, one gray slung into
space their fiery doom roasting
in orbit, a cosmic quest that animates
justice,

blackmail notches
the ears of the blood
hound on the trail, entrapment
and extortion aborts -

death of
evil politics
impaled on a
cactus-studded
limestone ridge, the
Devil's sinkhole, Mexican
free-tailed bats, Puerto Rico's
outlet to hell 140 miles west of San Antonio,

BAT OUTTA FUCKING HELL
enshrouded death,
silver tweezers black
with corrosion, Festered
with slivers of lies embe dded
beyond plucking, an incurable
rabid infection, sheets
de-bedded of fucking,

BAT OUTTA FUCKING HELL
a woman discovers a
painful, sinister find
of skeletons in the closet,

in an open meadow,
a prophetic sentry stands
in her high leather boots amid
Black Angus grazing, the spirit of
Doc Holliday drifts by, "the cards always
played well in your hands" he says, and she
smells the fire of ancient saloon whiskey on the
breath of vindicated air, iodine cell tracking Graffiti
detected by the Dog Star's light signature, her cross
planted of Rosicrucian seed, arcane roots hermetic,
migrating far from their birthplaces.


© Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist